


Chapter Eleven of NaPNaB, but Smutty

by RyeBread



Series: Not a Patron [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 19:32:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyeBread/pseuds/RyeBread
Summary: Yeah the title says it all, hunnies. Please don’t read this if you’re a minor. If you do anyway, please don’t tell me you did. Thank you and good night.





	Chapter Eleven of NaPNaB, but Smutty

**Author's Note:**

> I mean it kids, main fic is safe for work. This is not.

All trace of humor fades as Fjord puts his phone into Do Not Disturb then sets it face down on his night stand. Now that it’s time for him to sleep, his traitor-brain is replaying the evening. Specifically Caleb’s weird hug. Well, the hug wasn’t weird just because Caleb was giving it. He doesn’t know Caleb well enough to know if he’s a touchy person, though he’s never given real indication of it. 

Caleb touches Nott plenty. They sit close together, he puts his hand on her shoulders, she hugs him. Fjord knows that comfort among family doesn’t necessarily mean Caleb is always that comfortable with physical contact. Nott seems almost allergic to other human beings given how she shies away from being touched. Wracking his brain, since it’s already active when it shouldn’t be, Fjord tries to think of whether or not he’s noticed how Caleb holds himself in public. There haven’t been all that many opportunities.

At the book store he mostly stuck to the magazine rack, edging out of the way of other people. Except he walked almost directly into Fjord when he wasn’t paying attention, so maybe Caleb wasn’t intentionally avoiding people as much as he was engrossed in reading. He put on that air of superiority when talking to the pizza guy, and again when he bought the plays. 

Now Fjord is thinking about how Caleb bought the plays. He rubs his eyes, leaving his palms pressed to his face. It was a nice gesture. That’s all it has to be. He was doing Fjord a solid, and Fjord appreciates it, and that’s the end of that. Fjord rolls over, squeezing his eyes shut and willing his brain to just shut it all off and let him get some rest.

Caleb was warm when they hugged. Even in the brief moment of contact, Fjord could feel the heat of Caleb’s skin through both their shirts.

Fjord flips onto his other side, because he’s not going to unpack that. Not tonight, maybe not ever. Eyes closed, going to sleep.

Caleb smelled like dry cleaning and mild cologne, like walking past a clothing store, but with the undertone of cumin and turmeric even after he had washed up.

Fjord’s eyes snap open, growling in frustration. He’s not going to let one of the only instances of male altruism in his life boil down into a stupid crush and get ruined by feelings. He never should have pried into Caleb’s sexual interests because now it has all his wires crossed over a fucking hug that lasted two-thirds of a second. He flips himself face down on the bed, burying himself in the pillow. It helps muffle his frustrated sighing as he considers his options here. He can lay facedown until the lack of oxygen from breathing through a pillow knocks him out. Or. Well, there’s always one thing he could do to blank his brain for the previous few minutes he needs to fall asleep.

—  
Fjord reaches under himself, turning his face so he isn’t being smothered by the pillow while he cants his hips up and off the bed a little. It’s enough to let him paw at the front of his boxers. The semi he’s been dealing with since he tried to lay down gives a cursory swell of interest at his touch. Fjord licks his lips, conscious of his breathing given the shared space he’s in. The apartment is quite a bit larger than the dorms, but even still. He roomed with Molly last year, he knows full well how loud a person gets when they think they’re being quiet. Molly’s _indulgences_ were rarely subtle, but there was a small attempt on his end to keep things quiet. Fjord’s dick gives a treasonous throb when he thinks of those irritatingly frequent nights pretending to sleep through Molly’s quiet gasps, the soft thumping of fist and flesh, and the rustle of bedsheets twisting around as he got closer to his finish.

If he’s not thinking about Caleb while he does this, he’s most definitely not going to think about Molly. Unfortunately, his list of fantasies is rather short when he’s just trying to get one out and go to sleep. He thinks about his trysts onboard the fishing boats. They’d been hurried things, mostly meaningless, with the looming threat of getting caught by either the night guard or a fellow crewman. The risk gave Fjord and Sabien a taste of urgency and paranoia that shot a burst of pleasure straight to his groin as they fumbled in the dark, not fully undressed. They would breathe each other’s air, mixing sweat and musk with the humid salt air that came through no matter where on the ship they were. The slide of flesh against flesh, eased by spit or vaseline or - in one never-done-again instance - neatsfoot oil. 

Fjord clamps his jaw shut and tries to ease his breathing as he strokes himself, boxers shoved roughly down and under his balls. Most of the time it was mutual masturbation, hands on each other, tugging and rubbing and just pushing up into tight grips or against thighs. Rarely, they’d have the space and relative privacy to risk a blowjob. Fjord enjoyed getting more than giving, honestly. He wasn’t too proud to admit he didn’t think he was particularly good at giving head. Once, when he’d been sixteen, he got over eager and tried to go too far down. His response to gagging had been to bite down. Luckily, he’d caught himself before he actually _did_ clamp down, but the other boy had never asked for a blowjob again that summer.

Fjord wishes that his brain, even mid-jerk off, could refrain from embarrassing him in retrospect.

Getting a mouth on him, though. That was wonderful. Maybe he was blessed enough that Sabien had been good at it, but whenever Fjord thought he could get away with asking, he did. 

Fjord’s breathing goes sharp, the speed of his hand picking up. A warm mouth was perfect in a way that grease and tight fingers just couldn’t compete. The slide of a tongue against his dick, playing with the head. He tightens his hand at the base of his dick, toes curling at the memory. 

Sabien had been great. A hard worker, a mostly selfless lover. Right up until he’d run off, taking a bunch of expensive shit with him and leaving Fjord in boiling hot water with his uncle.

_Not thinking about that,_ Fjord thinks, furious. His dick wilts a little, so he gives himself another tug, trying to recover the mood. He thinks instead about the experience of how things had been. Lips all the way at his base, tongue along the bottom of his shaft, hot and wet and wonderful. There’s a hand at his balls, giving him a loose massage that leaves him moaning low in his throat. The other hand grips his buttock, nails digging in enough to leave a mark. 

Fjord rolls into his back, one hand still stroking, the other shoving his shirt up. He squeezes at his chest, eyes closed tight as he finds his nipple diamond hard and twists. His molars lock, the harsh sounds of breathing hopefully going no further than his closed door. 

In Fjord’s mind he’s thrusting into that mouth and peering down at a head of auburn-brown hair, at a pair of sharp blue eyes looking back up at him. Pale skin flushed pink with want. Caleb pulls back, mouth open and tongue out, waiting for him to-

Fjord cums without a sound, muscles locking up, his abs clenched as he spends onto his stomach and over his hand. He lets go of his nipple, melts back onto the bed. Slowly, he exhales and feels the sweat cooling on his skin. With his unoccupied hand, he reaches for the box of tissues beside his lamp and wipes himself down, tossing the wad of paper into the basket beside the bed with a note to himself to flush it first thing in the morning. He flips his boxers back over his shame and drifts to sleep before his brain comes back online.

—

He wakes up at six, his phone chirping at him to wake up. He takes a quick glance around into the hallway before farting into the bathroom with his waste basket. He flushes the balled up tissues at the bottom before showering. He keeps the water cool, waking up more completely. Unfortunately, waking up means facing the fact that he’s definitely gone and caught feelings. Again. Fuck.

He buries himself in the act of preparing for his next class. The chair is hard against his towel covered ass, but getting properly dried and dressed allows for contemplation. So when he has just a few scant minutes before he needs to be out the door, he allows the stress to eat up everything else as he frantically dresses and sprints outside. He’s not in so much of a hurry that he forgets to lock the door, but he does forget to brush his teeth. He spends his first class self-conscious about every interaction he has with another human being, trying to limit how much he speaks and how often he needs to face someone. 

He doesn’t really have the time to spare to run back to his apartment between classes, but he does anyway. He scrubs at his teeth until the foam goes pink and his gums throb, but it’s distracting in all the ways he needs to be distracted. Focus on the repetition of movement, keep to a schedule, ignore the fact that he rubbed one out to the thought of a guy whose most positive quality is that he’s not a massive douchebag. 

Jester sends him a text saying she doesn’t have time to catch lunch with him and Fjord sends his thanks to whichever god might be listening that he doesn’t need to make an excuse to avoid Jester in the state he’s in right now. Following that prayer, he sends Jester a quick :thumbsup: and a, “catch you tomorrow then.”

By dinner, the panic has receded to a low roar, about its normal volume. He has rice boiling in his covered skillet. A skillet is truly the most versatile of kitchen tools. He hears the slap of sandals on the linoleum and turns to find Nott standing at the table. Fjord’s stomach turns over, but he smiles, “Howdy?”

“Good evening. What’re you making?”

“Just rice and beans, the usual,” Fjord says, turning back to said dish. “You want some?”

“I’m alright, I was going to run out for something later.”

The silence stretches on, only the light rattle of the skillet’s lid breaking it. Fjord lifts the lid to check, as though he doesn’t know it isn’t yet done. “So-“ he starts to say after a minute when Nott cuts him off.

“-Would you mind if Caleb came by while I’m at class tomorrow?”

“Uh. I suppose not?”

Nott sighs, “I needed a book for my evening class and Caleb picked it up for me, but he’s not free until tomorrow afternoon. I know you have Friday clear after one, so would you be able to let him in around two?”

Right, they both habitually keep the door locked, and they’re forbidden to make copies of the key even for family. It makes sense. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. Is he just going to drop the book off and run?”

“He could,” Nott says, and she’s watching him more closely now. “He’s putting a lot of stuff to bed today so he could stick around tomorrow. You could watch tv or talk about Shakespeare like a bunch of nerds until I get back from class.”

Fjord wills himself not to blush as he asks, “Is he going to stay long?”

“Fjord, you have his phone number. Are you okay with getting my book from Caleb or not? If you have plans Friday afternoon he can just put it in my mailbox and go, or futz around for an hour and a half until I get back, but I’d prefer if he wasn’t just... alone at home.”

“I’ll be here,” Fjord says, decisive. It’s fine. He’s fine. It will all be fine. 

—

It’s quarter to two on Friday and Fjord is not fine. 

He’s scrubbing the dishes in the sink from breakfast, Jester had once again been busy. He has his books laid out on the table because he had been studying. If he’s got the sonnets laid out specifically, well, they are going to be moving on to the next set of them after they finish with As You Like It, so it isn’t that weird. Caleb will probably get too caught up in some anecdote or interpretation to notice how flustered Fjord is about being alone with him. 

When the knock does finally come, Fjord has to wait a moment to collect himself before opening the door. Caleb is waiting on the other side. He’s wearing a slightly wrinkled button-down, dress pants, and black shoes. His hair looks a bit of a mess, no product or tie holding it in place. He looks up at Fjord, a textbook held under one arm, a messenger bag under the other. “Good afternoon.”

“Yeah,” Fjord says dumbly then stands aside, shaking his head. “I mean, uh, come on in. Sorry, but of a weird day.”

“Ditto,” Caleb says, stepping inside and kicking off his shoes in the entryway. “Is Nott here?”

“What?” 

“My sister,” Caleb says. “I apologize, I forget how confusing her name can be.”

“No, I meant,” Fjord fumbles. “She’s not going to be here for another hour or so. She asked me to be here for you when you came by.”

“Oh.” Caleb hesitates with the book held in both hands, halfway into setting it on the kitchen counter. 

“I mean, it’s just an hour, if you don’t mind hanging out with me,” Fjord says, forcing a laugh to try to create levity.

“Of course not.” He puts the book down a little too forcefully. “Are you, ah, are you still on the sonnets?”

Fjord nods, “Yeah, number eighteen to whatever now. Past the weird ones where he keeps telling the younger guy to find a wife.”

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

“Yeah, that one.”

Caleb smiles, taking a seat at the table. “That one is so often mistaken by love-struck idiots who think it means something it doesn’t. Come, sit!”

Fjord shrugs, mostly to himself, and sits beside a Caleb who is practically vibrating with excitement, all previous hesitation gone. Maybe this will be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> If You Are A Minor And Read This Please Don’t Tell Me.


End file.
